


use your hands (and my spare time)

by jesterwrites



Category: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Oops, PWP, another rouxls boning session, he's such a power bottom dear god, here we go again, lesser daddy, rouxls has a praise kink, what is there to say about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 13:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16598597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterwrites/pseuds/jesterwrites
Summary: rouxls kaard may be absolutely terrible at making puzzles, but, as it turns out, there are some things he is very, very good at.(you get down n' dirty with the duke.)





	use your hands (and my spare time)

**Author's Note:**

> ok GOD i told you guys i wasn't gonna do it but... turns out self-control isn't really my strong suit.
> 
> the last one was a bit shitposty which is all well and good but i got legitimately flustered writing this one so that's gotta count for something.
> 
> title is from "sex" by the 1975, which, along with their song "it's not living if it's not with you", were major vibes when i wrote this
> 
> enjoy. i'm off to dunk myself in bleach to try and clean off all this sin.

There are two things you should know about Rouxls Kaard, the Duke of Puzzles. 

 

One: that fancy voice he does all the time is completely fake. 

 

Two: he’s surprisingly good in bed.

 

You find out both of these things at the same time. 

 

Some context: he’s taken you on as an apprentice of sorts at his shop. You’re not totally pleased with the situation, because he’s an insufferable ass ninety percent of the time and an infuriatingly attractive ass the other ten percent of the time, but it’s better than living on the street, which is essentially the only other option these days. It’s not even especially hard work. Mostly, it consists of moving things around for the sake of the shop’s feng shui (according to Rouxls), running the shop on the days he’s out working on more “brilliant” puzzles, and occasionally feeding him grapes like a Greek muse attending Dionysus, or something. 

 

One particularly uneventful Tuesday, you come into work a little early. When you’re not working, there’s not really much to do, and you’d rather start work early than wait around in the rain. Rouxls is nowhere to be seen, but you figure he’ll show up soon enough. You put your bag and jacket down on the counter and wait. You don’t have to stand around for long; barely a minute passes before you hear him lazily call your name, from the back room, as he is wont to do when he deigns to ask your opinion on a particularly interesting worm or a new puzzle he’s invented. 

 

“Yes, my liege?” you call back, still inwardly rolling your eyes at the title he insists you use, even though half the time you forget and just call him Rouxls. Besides, you’re pretty sure the correct form of address for a duke is “Your Grace,” but whatever. You pause, waiting for his response, and you hear… nothing. Just the faint sound of rain outside the shop. Furrowing your brows, you plop the crate you’re holding onto the counter he usually lounges on when dealing with customers. You’re about to call to him again, a little louder, but then you hear him say your name again. His tone is weird. What’s wrong with him? You listen intently, confused, and it comes a third time, stammered and breathy. You take a few steps towards the door to the back room and then - you hear it. 

 

It’s a sound you’ve never heard him make before. One that sounds suspiciously like a moan.

 

Your nerves feel hot as you take the last two steps to the door and rest your hand on the knob, unsure. You have a hunch as to what he’s doing in there, and if it’s what you suspect, he probably doesn’t want to be bothered... But that was  _ your name _ on his lips, so you start to entertain the thought that maybe you’d be a welcome intrusion. 

 

You’re weighing the repercussions of intentionally walking in on him while he’s getting off to thoughts of you (you could pretend it was an accident?) when he calls your name again and it’s an almost  _ urgent _ sound, so you immediately throw all semblance of caution to the wind and open the door, feeling like you’re underwater. 

 

The back room is really less of a storage space and more of a living room, with a TV and a bookcase and a furry rug that you both secretly love rolling around on and a couch. When you walk in, you’re greeted with the seriously delicious sight of Rouxls Kaard stretched out on said couch, shirtless, head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut. He’s got one hand over his mouth, clearly a failed attempt to quiet the high, needy sounds coming from him with each desperate breath. His other hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly. As you watch him, transfixed, he shivers visibly and turns his head in your direction. His eyes are still shut, and he drops his hand from his mouth just enough for you to catch a glimpse of bitten, bow-shaped lips as he chokes out another low, tremulous moan. 

 

Unable to tear your gaze from him, you shut the door behind you with a  _ click  _ and his eyes snap open, an almost animal wildness in them for an instant. Then he realizes it’s you, and your own eyes must be as dark with desire as his are, because something in that frantic gaze seems to melt. He doesn’t look the slightest bit ashamed of being caught like this, though, and that thought only serves to further stoke the pool of heat forming low in your belly. 

 

“I confesse I - I was not expecting thine arrivale,” he says breathily, as if that’s an adequate explanation. He doesn’t stop touching himself. 

 

“I wasn’t expecting  _ this _ ,” you reply dryly, glancing pointedly at his cock. As far as dicks go, his is… nice. It’s invitingly large, a rather pretty shade of pale blue-grey, and it’s already slick with pearlescent precum. 

 

There’s a long, tense moment where neither of you speak, the air around you hot and stifling. And then suddenly you’re pulling off your shirt and moving towards him, and he leans forward to touch you. You push him back, though, because you’ve _ never _ had the upper hand on him, but you’ll be damned if you aren’t going to try now. 

 

Feeling a wild rush of mixed desire and courage, you straddle him, hovering your body over his. He makes a sweet, desperate sound in his throat and his gaze searches your own. When you find no hesitation in his eyes, you lean forward boldly and kiss him. His lips part against yours, willing and easy, and you hum into his mouth, moving your tongue against his. When you pull back, there’s a thin string of saliva between your mouths, and instead of being disgusted by it you decide that it is, in fact, super sexy, and you feel the heat within you narrow to a burgeoning sense of need. 

 

“Hey there, hot stuff,” you breathe out, and Rouxls flushes gorgeously, milky blue spreading almost to his temples as you tangle one hand in his hair, which you find to be soft as satin and equally glossy. His eyelashes flutter and you’re seized with the sudden desire to ravish him until the two of you can’t recall words that aren’t each other’s names. 

 

“Y-you,” he says weakly, “you really want - _ this _ ? You want… me?”

 

You realize he’s not doing that terrible Shakespearean accent-thing he always does, and the fact you’ve driven him to the point of such helplessness that he can’t even remember how to talk properly is incredibly, incredibly hot. 

 

“Yeah,” you tell him, keeping one hand in his hair and tracing a gentle line down his bare chest with the other. “I want you -” you lower your eyes, half-demure - “ _ my liege _ .”

 

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and a quiet thrill runs through you at the silkiness of his voice. You kiss him again, deep and warm and tender, and the hand he’s not bracing himself against the couch with comes up to cup the back of your neck. For such an asshole, you think, Rouxls is turning out to be a surprisingly amorous lover. 

 

“Okay, yeah, fuck,” you repeat, feeling the edge of his cock brush your still-clothed thigh. He shivers and tenses, and it’s more than enough motivation to get up off of him long enough to shed the rest of your clothes. As you strip, you catch him looking at you with a reverent expression, and when you move to sit on his lap again he takes your hand in his, guiding you with a needy fervor. 

 

You resume kissing him like his mouth is the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted, which it kind of is, and this time you trail your free hand down between your bodies to trail your fingers up the underside of his cock. He whines into your mouth and you do it again just to hear the sound a second time. You pull away from him and he pants, mouth open just enough for you to realize just how sharp his canines are. You hope he’s into biting. 

 

“What do you want?” Rouxls nearly pleads, hands brushing your sides, unsure. “Show me where to touch you.”

 

Wordlessly, you lean forward to press a line of kisses to his jawline, and as you do, you take hold of one of his hands and guide it between your thighs. You hear his soft “oh” of surprise when his fingertips brush your wet core, and his touch is almost torturously gentle as he dips one finger into you, and then a second.

 

His touch sends a wave of equal parts pleasure and want through your body, and you kiss him again to muffle a soft moan of your own. You resume lightly teasing his cock with your fingertips, relishing the way he shakes under you. His fingers withdraw from you only to find your clit, and you break the kiss with a gasp as a heady wave of pleasure rushes through you.

 

“Rouxls, holy fuck,” you choke out, because he’s flicking and stroking and doing god-knows-what else but you’re feeling like you might lose your mind. He grins at you, gap-toothed and gorgeous, and you grind your hips down against his touch. 

 

“Can we- please?” His voice is a little strained and you run the very tips of your nails up his cock and remove your hand, and he twitches at the loss of contact. 

 

“Can we  _ what _ ?” you tease. “Use your words.” 

 

“Please,” he says hotly, after a long, steadying moment. “I want you.” 

 

“Yeah?” you tease, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear and gazing evenly down at him. He fucking  _ squirms  _ under you. His cock is achingly hard against your inner thigh. 

 

“Please take me inside you,” he begs, flushed and panting and beautiful, and you finally decide to have a little mercy. You take him in hand and guide the head of his cock to your core, and then, at last, you sink down onto him, and he bites his lip like he’s trying to stay quiet, but you hear his soft moan of relief and satisfaction nonetheless.

 

“Rouxls,” you murmur, and he manages to focus enough to meet your gaze, but his muscles are taut and his breath is short and shallow. He’s not far from falling apart, and the thought prompts you to roll your hips, driving him deeper into you. He tries to turn his head and avert his gaze, flustered, but you lift yourself up a little and catch his cheek in your hand. 

 

“Look at me,” you demand, and he does. His eyes roam desperately over you, trying to drink in every inch of you, and his hands follow. He runs his long fingers down your sides and settles them at your hips, encouraging as you ride him at a steady pace.

 

It’s good. He feels really good. His cock presses up into you when you grind down, putting pressure on all the right spots, and when he starts working your clit with his thumb again, it takes a serious effort not to scream his name. You manage not to, but your self-control doesn’t extend to orgasms, apparently, because the liquid heat within you is already starting to swell and crest. 

 

He rests one hand on your lower back and the other between your thighs, and lies back and watches you, enraptured by the way your breasts move and your hair bounces. You grind a little deeper onto him and he digs his nails into your back, which you seem to like. 

 

“That’s it,” you gasp, moving your hips recklessly, “Yes- fuck, _ fuck, _ Rouxls,  _ yes _ -”

 

The wave rises, stills, shudders, and crashes. Your vision blurs and you sigh, riding the feeling as long as you can, still working your hips, and his hands are so warm on your skin. 

 

Watching you come seems to have made Rouxls more desperate himself, and he’s holding your hips a little tighter as he fucks up into you, faster and harder than before.

 

“Please,” he repeats, and you’re not sure even he knows what he’s begging for. “Please, please, fuck, please-”

 

“There you go,” you breathe out, still shaky and sated from your own climax. “There you go, Rouxls, that’s it, you’re doing so well.”

 

The praise seems to have a positive effect: his breath quickens and he leans forward to steal a messy, haphazard kiss as his hips twitch up into you with increasing fervor. His mouth trails a wet line down your throat and across your collarbone, and you bury both hands in his hair. 

 

“Fuck, that’s perfect,” you croon, and he makes a sound that’s almost a whimper, mouth still hot against your shoulder. “Take what you need, baby.”

 

That seems to be all the encouragement he needs; he pounds roughly into you, holding your body against him like a doll, and it doesn’t take long before he gives a startled cry of pleasure and sinks his teeth into the junction of your shoulder, shuddering and clutching at you. You can feel him filling you, his seed hot and thick, and the sensation makes you sigh and shut your eyes, utterly sated.

 

The two of you sit like that for a long while, coming down from the high. When at last you do pull back, Rouxls seems, for once, to be at a loss for words. 

 

“That was pretty good, boss,” you admit breathlessly, moving up off him, and he hums in agreement, rubbing your hip lightly as you go. 

 

“It was.” He still looks vaguely delighted, which you guess is a testament to your own skills. The two of you are quiet as you clean yourselves up and you collect your clothes. 

 

“Um,” he says, uncharacteristically soft, seemingly still a little unsure of himself.

 

“Yeah?” you look up from pulling your pants on to find him looking at you with an expression akin to fascination. 

 

“I- I thinke,” he says, slipping shamelessly back into the accent, “that thou shouldst come into worke early from nowe on.”

 

You laugh, pick up his shirt from the floor next to the couch, and throw it at him. 

 

...He’s right, though. Maybe you’ll start working overtime, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> i made him drop the accent. sorry if you're into that but i seriously could not have made it through this jizzfest if he was still talking like a renaissance faire intern. 
> 
> my tumblr is @jesterquill. hop on by for more good (?) content
> 
> i love all you kinky fuckers and i also love feedback, so go hog wild.


End file.
